


let me give you cover

by versaillesatnight



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Ableist Language, Bucky is VERY dramatic, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Pining, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes, Sick Steve, and grinding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-10 01:59:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4372799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/versaillesatnight/pseuds/versaillesatnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's an influenza outbreak in Brooklyn. Bucky goes a little crazy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	let me give you cover

**Author's Note:**

> This is......like.....the most disjointed thing i've ever written it's just four hours of writing with sick steve rogers feelings strong in my heart and i just LOVE this pairing it has literally eaten me ALIVE. I am in pain just thinking about them. So this is something i am very sure but i had a lot of fun writing it. This is my first time with this pairing and tiny steve and the 40's and big terrified bff/pining desperately Bucky is just :))))!!! I'm sorry this probably makes no sense either I am very tired and have been on strong pneumonia drugs for days so that's 1/2 the inspiration here too. I really hope if you got through this mess of an introduction you enjoy!!! Not really anything serious going on here with warnings but I did tag for ableist language cause I use the word crazy a couple times and I just wanna make sure everyone knows what's coming! Okay!

It’s one of those rare winter nights Bucky doesn’t feel too tied up at the prospect of going out with Steve. It’s not too cold, snow looking sort of pretty. Steve’s got a new hat; too, keeps his dumb looking ears tucked up and warm.

Bucky saw it in the shop a week ago, and at the time, he was sure that he was thinking it’d look fine on him. But he’d gotten home, and he’d noticed Steve’s cap was too worn down to do much of anything.          

“Looks like you got a rat on your head,” Bucky told him and Steve had rolled his eyes and said, “Not like I’ve got much of a choice, pal.”

And Bucky had slung it over towards him, a whole day’s wages and Bucky hadn’t really minded, not when Steve didn’t come home shivering the next day.

They’re going out to one of the dance halls Bucky’s been to before. He chose a cleaner one, so the cover is a little higher, but Bucky isn’t going to be taking Steve to any of those smoke houses.

Bucky didn’t have a date set up with any girls, wouldn’t feel right about it with no one for Steve to partner up with. The idea of going out with a date doesn’t appeal much anyhow. Steve’s good enough company for him. There’ll be plenty of girls without partners anyway, no need to treat them to dinner and have them drown out Steve for half the night.

The club is crowded and loud and Steve is all kinds of glowing. He loves music, the kid’s artsy as shit—Bucky wishes he could get them out to this kind of thing more often. Does Steve some good, he’s sure.

They get a table away from the bar, where the music is a little quieter, and Steve can watch the dancing. Bucky wants Steve to take a turn on the floor, but dame’s have always been damn near blind when it came to Steve, and his lungs—well. Bucky would know when Steve needed to stop, but anyone else Bucky doesn’t trust much.

He’s got Steve and him a couple of drinks, and he’s sipping his slowly, really trying to soak in how good he feels right at that moment.

“You wanna dance?” Steve asks.

“Nah, no one’s really caught my eye,” Bucky replies.  
“Come on, you don’t have to keep me company all night,” Steve says.

Sometimes Bucky doesn’t know where Steve’s coming from.

“You think I’m sitting here all night just for you? You must think pretty highly of yourself.”

Steve smiles, cheeks coloring a little. Bucky doesn’t know if it’s from the booze or what, but it’s a damn good look on him.

“Well if you aren’t here for me,” Steve says, “Seems to me like you’re just too chicken to ask one of these girls to dance. Guess you know they’re all too good for you.”

Bucky laughs. Yeah, this is doing Steve real good. He hasn’t been like this for the past couple weeks, winter blues and a constitution like his all paired with a job Steve shouldn’t even be in don’t leave the kid any time but to sleep and eat.

Bucky bets a little dancing would bump Steve’s mood up even higher. He doesn’t think leaving Steve to stew at the table is straight out nice, but that’s a challenge he can’t turn down.

“Alright, asshole. Let me know how chicken this looks from here.”

Bucky approaches a pretty brunette at the bar. She’d turned and made eye contact with him earlier in the night, but it wasn’t anything Bucky was keen to do something about. Now, though, Steve hadn’t left him with much of a choice.  
“Bucky Barnes,” he says as he approaches, props an arm up on the bar, “I’m sure a gorgeous dame like you isn’t here all on your own.”

The girl laughs and rolls her eyes and the rest of it comes easy. They’re dancing two songs later. The girl isn’t half bad, light on her feet and real nice, too. Bucky wasn’t having a bad time. He still kept track of the songs they danced, two more and he could head back to Steve.

“So you from Brooklyn?” The girl asks.

Bucky dips her quickly, smiles at the look on her face, “Born and bred.”

The girl’s eyes widen in interest, “Oh gee, well then maybe you can clear up what I’ve been hearing about all night.”

Bucky frowns, “What’ve you been hearing?”

The girl looks around like she’s about to tell a secret. The music quiets, couples slowing as the song comes to an end, “You know, all those people getting sick. My cousin said it’s got people in a bit of a panic.”

Bucky feels like a bucket of ice has been poured on him, “What? What are you talking about?”

Bucky figures his voice must come out a little harsh, cause the girl drops her hands from his neck, takes a step back.

“I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking you. I thought you were the native Brooklyn boy.”

“Well I don’t know either,” Bucky says, “I’m sorry, Nancy, I gotta get going.”

The girl doesn’t try to stop him. Bucky pushes his way across the floor, gets to the table he left Steve at.

Steve’s watching him as he approaches, “What’s going on, Buck? Everything okay?”

Bucky is overwhelmed for a moment with how downright sincere Steve sounds. Minute he sees something’s going on with Bucky, all he can think of doing is helping. That’s Steve all over. Good to his core.

“Dame just figured out what a punk I am. Figured we’d get outta here while I still have a little of my dignity.”

Steve looks around the room, searching the girl out. It makes Bucky a little itchy, thinking about letting Steve hang around all these people for longer than he has to. He wishes they hadn’t come out tonight.

“She’s got a way home, right?”

“Hell, Rogers, I don’t know,” Bucky snaps.

Steve’s face tightens like it always does when Bucky’s disappointed him. Reminds Bucky of his goddamn mother. Bucky scrubs a hand through his hair

“Fine, fine,” he mutters, turns to make his way back across the floor. Nancy’s over with her group of friends. Bucky think she looks just fine but he takes in a breath and heads over to her anyway.

“Hey,” he says, tapping her on the back. She doesn’t look so happy to see him, but is polite about it nonetheless.

“You okay getting home?” He asks, tries to ignore the way her friends are looking at him.

“Sure,” she says, “Surprised you’re interested.”

Bucky doesn’t want to be a jerk, so he shrugs and says, “Sorry, was just worried about my pal.”

The girl looks to where Bucky’s gesturing and raises an eyebrow. Bucky’s all ready to get angry about something, regret trying to be a gentleman if she says something about Steve, but instead she says, “Think you might be interested in what’s going on now, then.”

Bucky whips around, just to see Steve standing in between a dame and one hell of a big guy. Bucky let’s out a frustrated sound.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, “See? Can’t leave the kid alone a second.”

Nancy’s smile is a little warmer, “Thanks, Nancy,” he says, nods a goodbye. He just barely gets back to Steve’s side in time to let the guy know that Steve’s not there alone. From the looks of things he was about to let Steve have it, and Steve was just about to believe that he had a chance.

“Whoa, there,” Bucky says, holds out his hands, “Sure this is how you want to end your night?”

The man lunges for Steve around Bucky’s frame and Bucky socks him hard in the nose. He doesn’t really think about it. It’s down to instinct at this point, what with the way Steve gets into it with guys three times his size near daily. He feels the guy’s nose move under his knuckles, grimaces a little.

The guy buckles over, gripping his nose and swearing like he just got a bullet wound. One of those types, Bucky guesses, big and thinks that’s enough to get them through a fight. Bucky likes it when it’s that simple.

Steve’s turned to make sure the girl’s alright and Bucky gets a grip on him before the big guy decides he needs to regain some pride. He’s a worthless fighter, that much is clear, but Bucky wouldn’t put it past him to try and get a sucker punch in on a little guy like Steve. Not that Steve would ever go down like this guy did. Was always spoiling for a fight, if you gave him the right kind of bully to face off against.

Bucky’s not in the mood to see Steve get pushed around. Isn’t ever, really, but he feels especially on edge now. He pulls on Steve’s arm, isn’t above using a little of his muscle to get Steve out of the joint.

Steve is in a mood when they get outside. His breath is coming in pants, air puffing up with them. The light snow from earlier is coming down a little faster. Steve looks like some kind of angry angel, face still pink, skin glowing with sweat. Bucky wants to kiss him, hard hot impulse slamming into him like a fist. Not anything he isn’t used to.

He wraps an arm around Steve’s shoulders, plays drunker than he is. Coming across sort of helpless will get him out a lot with Steve. Steve knows that it’s all an act, but he lets Bucky gets away with it anyway.

Steve sighs, takes some of Bucky’s weight, and starts leading him back home. Even as solid and warm as Steve feels right now, Bucky doesn’t ever forget how fast that can change.

\---

Bucky sees it in the paper the next day. He thought he had been overreacting before, had talked himself down overnight. But there it is, printed in black and white on his way to work.

Doctor’s are calling it one of the worst influenza outbreaks they’ve ever seen. Bucky stops to buy a paper after he sees the headline. He thumbs through it on his way to work, fingers going numb from the frigid air.

The paper says that with normal precautions people have no reason to worry. Bucky doesn’t buy it, not for a second. He’s always taking more than normal precautions with Steve, and that never does him any good.

He’s in a foul mood by the time he gets to work. He can’t think of anything but Steve in that shitty corner store, passing out change, helping sickly old ladies with their bags. Bucky scowls at the thought.

The day passes real slow. Bucky considers getting one of his hands under one of the machines just to get off early. Not a big machine, just break a finger or something. It’d be his left hand, nothing to concern himself over.

At lunch, Robby asks him if he’s gone out with any dames lately. Usually Bucky would be happy to oblige, but being as it is, he nearly bites his head off.

“Shit, Robby, asking about my dates ain’t ever gonna get you your own.”

Bucky guesses Robby’s going to be a little sore at him, but he doesn’t mind much.

By the end of the day, Bucky feels downright itchy. He’s bolts out the door, cuts the half hour commute down to twenty minutes. He hopes that Steve’s already made it back.

He takes the stairs in twos, and struggles with the shitty lock more than he has in the whole time he’s lived there.

Steve’s laying on his bed when Bucky comes in, paper and charcoal set up in his lap. The window’s open, cool air blowing right on him. Steve’s looking at him, calm as anything. It drive Bucky up the wall.

“How was work?” Steve asks. Bucky narrows his eyes. Of course the little shit is being sincere about it, eyes soft and interested.

“Fine,” Bucky replies shortly, eyes the open window, “Don’t you think it’s cold enough in here?”

Steve shrugs, “It was real stuffy when I got in. Sorry, lemme close it.”

Steve moves to put his sketch pad down but Bucky gets across the room first, slams the window down.

“No need to get up,” Bucky says. Steve blinks at him, “Alright, Buck, thanks.”

Bucky nods, finally kicks his shoes off. He goes to sit on his bed right across from Steve. It’s already kind of late, winter sky gone dark halfway home. Steve’s got the lamp turned on.

Bucky figures he could read something, maybe write his sister back, but his eyes keep getting drawn back to Steve. He looks healthy. Pale skin all warm from the glow of the lamp, head bent over his work. He neck is curved real pretty, Bucky notices, looks all soft and graceful.

“What’re you drawing?” He asks.

“Oh, just the dance hall from the from the other night. The people dancing.”

“Oh yeah? I gonna be in this one?”

Bucky watches Steve carefully as a flush climbs up his neck. Bucky wants to touch it. That living, warm reminder that Steve’s heart’s doing just fine. Bucky bets it’d be the warmest he’d ever felt. Doesn’t think Steve would appreciate Bucky’s hands all over him, though. Least not in the way Bucky would want him to.

“Like I’d draw your ugly mug,” Steve says.

“Bet you could pretty me up,” Bucky replies.

Steve laughs, rubs at his neck, “Don’t think I’m that talented.”

Bucky can’t believe half the shit he lets Steve get away with. He tosses his pillow at him, just cause he can’t have Steve thinking Bucky’s soft on him.

“Is that what you say to someone who’s talking you up?”

Steve grins, “Sorry, Buck, just keeping you honest.”

Bucky swallows around the laugh in his throat. Steve seems happy, sketchpad pushed to the side, long skinny limbs curled around Bucky’s pillow. He looks downright tiny sometimes, don’t matter how big he talks. And he talks big plenty.  
He’s a fucking gladiator on the inside, smart mouth and rearing for a fight. Outside, though, Bucky’s laid awake plenty of nights to hear how fragile Steve’s frame actually is. When he gets a real bad cold, Bucky’ll lay and listen and worry the next cough is gonna be the one to burst his lungs.

Bucky doesn’t know what he’d do then. If Steve wasn’t still kicking, Bucky can’t think what’d be worth staying around for.

“How was work today?” Bucky asks.

“Fine. Got us some of the apples. We still got some bread in the kitchen if you haven’t had something to eat.”

Bucky’s chest is tight. Course Steve’s looking out for him. Even got him the dumb fucking apples Steve knows he likes.

“Not real hungry,” he says. He stops, tries to find the right words, “Do you have to go in tomorrow?”

“I do if we wanna pay rent next week.”

Bucky goes quiet, doesn’t know how to tell Steve that Bucky’d find a way to take care of them. He’d do just about anything to keep Steve safe.

“I can cover rent this month,” is what he finally manages. He doesn’t want Steve to think he’s all worked about Steve’s fragile constitution. Might set the kid off.

Steve looks at him strangely, “What’s going on with you, Buck?”

“Nothing. Just. Think you should take a day off.”

“You gonna be taking a day off?”

“We ain’t talking about me,” Bucky says.

Steve raises an eyebrow, unimpressed, “Well, what’re we talking about then?”

Bucky could say it. He could tell Steve about the paper and how thinking about Steve out with that going around drives him near crazy with worry. He could tell Steve that this all is really about him, how he couldn’t stand it, would just down and stop breathing if Steve wasn’t in the picture no more.

But Steve would probably react to that as well as he’d react to Bucky stroking his neck. Wouldn’t be mean about it. That wasn’t in Steve’s character. Kind and clean and good down to his core. He hated when Bucky called other fellas queer.

But he’d let him down easy, maybe move out, and then when would Bucky see him again? He’d be out in Brooklyn on his own and Bucky doesn’t even want to think about that.

He could say it, but instead he shuts his big mouth and says, “Nothing. I’m just gonna head to bed.”

Bucky turns to curl up on his bed, back to Steve. He can't sleep, can't do much but listen to the sounds of Steve's pencil on his sketchbook, the sound of Steve's mostly easy breathing. It's about half an hour later that Steve turns the lamp off.

"Buck?" He calls softly through the darkness.

"Hmm?" Bucky replies. He had meant to fake sleeping, but what if Steve needed something?

"Is this about that stuff in the paper today?" Steve asks.

Bucky stays curled away from Steve. Course he knew about it. Steve was all fucking educated, like one of those college kids. Read like crazy. Course he read the morning paper, what was Bucky thinking?

"Yeah," Bucky says, cause there's no point in denying it now.

"You trying to protect me?" Steve asks after a pause.

"Yeah," Bucky says again, and his voice sounds weak.

Steve doesn’t say anything for a long time. Bucky lays there as awake as ever, trying to figure out some meaning in the way Steve’s silence.

“You’re pretty tough, Buck, but I don’t think even you’d be able to keep my body working right.”

Bucky closes his eyes. He knows, he knows, he knows. That’s probably the meanest goddamn thing Steve’s ever said to him.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean that,” Steve says. Bucky doesn’t say anything in reply. He pretends to be asleep.

“I’ll be careful. But you and I both know I gotta go to work.”

That’s not real nice either. Of course Bucky knows. Their apartment is fucking freezing, and Bucky’s shoes are one hard winter’s walk from having holes in the soles. Their landlord has given them their last warning three separate times.

But Bucky’d figure something out.

“Night, Bucky,” Steve says some time later.

“Goodnight,” Bucky replies. He falls asleep around three in the morning. His dreams aren’t anything he wants to remember.

\---

Three days later, Steve's slow to get out of bed.

"What's wrong?" Bucky asks, eyeing him carefully. He looks a little pale. Bucky swallows.

"Don't feel so hot," Steve replies, stretches so his shirt reveals a thin strip of stomach. Bucky looks away.

"Do you think you're coming down with something?" Bucky asks. Doesn't name what it is, is scared just thinking about it.

"Probably just a cold. Jeeze." Steve's feet touch the floor, quiet enough that Bucky wouldn't notice if he weren't so tuned to Steve’s every goddamn movement.

"Floors always been this cold?" He asks. Bucky goes to grab him an extra pair of socks.

"Here ya go," he says real casual, tries to watch Steve with at least some show of subtly.

"Thanks," Steve says.

Bucky usually leaves before Steve in the morning, but today he lingers a little bit. Probably no one will notice if he comes in late.

Steve’s curled in on himself more than usual—looks like how he holds himself after a particularly bad double date. Bucky hates it on Steve then, hates it even more now.

“Sure none of those customers are gonna want any of what you’ve got,” Bucky says. Steve looks at him, eyes considering.

“You know what Mr. Hempmore said would happen if I missed anymore work.”

Bucky slams his shoes on the floor, shoves his feet into them.

“Who gives a shit about Mr. Hempmore?”

“He was nice enough to even give me a chance, Bucky. I don’t want to let him down.” Steve’s voice is soft and anxious.

Bucky’s heart clenches. Even when Steve was working his ass off for the old bastard, he still looks at the job as some kind of favor. There’s really no combating that kind of thought when Steve gets it in his head, unless Bucky plays real dirty. He takes a breath, let’s some of the panic he’s feeling leak into his voice. If he let Steve in on the whole disaster going on inside Bucky right then, the dumb kid would just start worrying after him. Would defeat the whole purpose.

“Don’t want to get sick on me, though. Right, pal? You’d be outta work for weeks, then.”

Steve groans, “Aw, c’mon, Buck. That’s a cheap shot and you know it.”

Bucky feels a little better, knowing Steve is going to let him have this one.

“You just stay in bed, Steve. I’m going to take care of it. Don’t want you worrying.”

Steve makes a bit of a production out of it, but Bucky doesn’t mind. He leaves the apartment almost smiling, calm that he’s got Steve staying put. It lasts till he hits the first street corner. Then he realizes with a lurch of his stomach that Steve had to be feeling much worse than he let on to stay home.

He wants to turn back right then, but Bucky told Steve he’d take care of it. What good would getting them kicked out in the middle of winter do?

Bucky goes to work. On the way home, he takes the couple of coins in his pocket and stops at a bookstore he passes on the way home. He figures if Steve is gonna be stuck in bed for a few days, might as well have something to pass the time. And that’s all it’s gonna be, if anything. Just a couple of day’s rest. Bucky doesn’t entertain another thought.

He stops by the butcher to buy some pork, too. Down to less than a dollar, Bucky tries to get home as quick as he can.

The apartment is cool, but not freezing. Steve is still lying in bed. Bucky wonders if he’s moved all day.

He shifts a little when Bucky opens the door, “Hey, Bucky,” he says weakly. Bucky drops the things he’s bought on the floor near the door.

“Hey, Steve,” Bucky says, moves across the room to get a better look at him, “How you feeling?”

“M’fine,” Steve mumbles from under the covers. He moves his legs slowly out of bed. “How was your day?”

Bucky is struck with the urge to push Steve back onto the bed but he forces it down.

“Swell,” Bucky says, “You have something to eat yet?”

“Not real hungry,” Steve says.

“Well, I got us some food anyway,” Bucky says. He starts up the stove, uses the last of their butter in the pan. It gives him something to do. He doesn’t know how else to help him. He’d been dying to get home all day and now that he’s here the only thing he can think to do is make something Steve probably doesn’t even want.

He separates the food on to two plates, gets Steve some water, too.

Steve’s sitting upright on the edge of the bed, “Can I help with something?” He asks blearily. Bucky hands him his plate.

“Just eat this. Got you a book, too, if you’re interested. Best thing you can do now is stay in bed.”

Steve nods, chews his way slowly through his meal.

“You gotta tell me if you’re feeling real bad, Steve,” Bucky says, “Cause then we gotta get you to the hospital.”

“I’m sick all the time, Bucky. C’mon, don’t work yourself over about this.” Steve says. He goes to sleep early, but Bucky tells himself that it’s just like Steve said. Nothing that’s Steve’s not able to handle, and Bucky will look back on it in a few days and see how dumb he got over Rogers again. He can’t sleep, his thoughts aren’t that convincing, but he turns the lights off and watches Steve’s figure through the dark.

\---

It’s a bad night. Steve gets up to vomit two times, all the food Bucky made for him coming out coughing and acidic one room over. Bucky follows Steve like a shadow, gets him small glasses of water to suck down after he’s done, watches him as he brushes his teeth.

The second time Steve throws up, he’s too weak to make it back to bed by himself. Bucky takes the full weight of him—so light, too light—and tucks him gingerly back into bed.

Its all Bucky can do.

Bucky figures Steve’s gotten everything up, because for the next two hours, Steve lays quiet in his bed. The panic in Bucky’s chest stays a steady thrum

Around three in the morning, when Bucky gets up to check on Steve’s temperature—still hot, too hot, and the cool rag on his forehead fell off again—Steve starts tossing.

“Fuck,” Bucky says, runs his hand down his face. He wonders if he could get Steve to a hospital this time of night. If they could even do anything about it. Why didn’t he take Steve earlier?

“Cold,” Steve moans. Bucky swallows, grabs the two blankets on his bed and tosses them over Steve.

“Bucky, no,” Steve says, voice as bossy it could get after spending the night throwing up.

“Steve, yes,” Bucky insists.

“But how’re you gonna sleep?” Steve mumbles.

“I’m not sleeping anyway,” Bucky replies. Steve makes a worried sound, shifts under the pile of blankets, “Still cold, anyway,” Steve says, “No reason for you to be cold, too.”

“Steve, don’t you fucking dare,” Bucky warns, but Steve’s already kicked the two blankets off onto the floor.

“There—“ Steve says, “Those are yours.”

Bucky wants to rip his fucking hair out. Instead he bundles up the blankets, takes in Steve’s slightly shaky form laying on his bed. Why doesn’t Steve ever let Bucky fucking help him? He never seems to get it—always being such a goddamn martyr, when the only thing Bucky wouldn’t be able to survive is something happening to him.

Doesn’t seem like he has much of a choice. He tells himself it’s necessary, ignores the sick twinge of anticipation. Steve could be fucking _dying_ this isn’t the time.

“Buck, I swear to god—“

Bucky tosses the blankets back over Steve, slides in behind him, “This gonna shut you up?” He says, his voice is all bravado, not betraying the way his heart is trembling in his chest. His arm is tossed around Steve’s waist, still a cold amount of space between them, but Bucky feels hot all over.

“Oh,” Steve says, shifts, “Okay.”

Bucky smirks, “Yeah, thought so. You feeling warm enough to get some sleep now?”

Bucky can feel Steve’s every movement, every breath. He bends one of his legs, pushing his body a little closer to Bucky’s.

“I—yeah,” Steve says, “I’m good.”

Bucky can make out the back of Steve’s neck through the dark, thin pale hair curling from the sweat. Bucky breathes shallowly. Steve smells good, clean. He doesn’t smell as sick as he seems. It calms Bucky down a little. That, and steady pulse he can feel from where his fingers are curled around Steve’s elbow.

Bucky doesn’t think he’s going to be able to sleep. He stays curled around Steve, his body a warm bundle just too far for Bucky to hold completely, breaths getting deeper and body relaxing more and more each passing moment.

Bucky’s sure he’s going to be up with Steve all night. Not just cause of the bug’s Steve got, whatever it is, but also because this is probably the only time he’s ever gonna get the chance to do this. The thought fills him with guilt.

Doesn’t stop him from relaxing against the feel of Steve’s body next to him. He tries to breathe in time with Steve, just to make sure he doesn’t bug him or something. His eyes get heavy before he has the chance to realize.

\---

The morning light through the bedroom window wakes Bucky like usual. It’s not snowing, and the sun’s out bright, reflecting off the snow that’s yet to melt. He opens his eyes slowly, realizes the hot press of flesh all up against him is Steve. Must’ve shifted in his sleep. Or Bucky moved closer, one or the other.

It doesn’t matter. It feels too fucking good for Bucky to worry about it much. Steve’s sweet little ass is pressed up against Bucky’s groin, body gone soft and relaxed and Bucky feels like he’s touching every inch of him.

He feels alright, too. Not just in the obvious ways—his skin doesn’t feel so clammy, he’s kicked all those blankets off and isn’t shivering a bit.

Bucky doesn’t know how he got so goddamn lucky in life, but he prays and says thank you all the same. He doesn’t want to jinx anything, whatever odds are in his favor.

Steve shifts against him, pressing his ass against Bucky’s cock.

“Bucky,” he says quietly, “Morning,”  
“Morning,” Bucky manages, whole body feeling warmed and on edge, “How’re you feeling?”

Steve seems to take account of himself, yawns, doesn’t move away from Bucky’s embrace, “Don’t think I’ve felt this good in awhile,” Steve says.

He sounds it, too. Nothing like the weak rasp from last night. His voice is quiet but happy and from where they’re touching, Bucky’s pretty sure Steve’s fever has broken.

Bucky hasn’t felt this good in awhile, either. Can’t remember the last time he got to be close to Steve like this.

“Shit, Stevie,” Bucky says, relief and joy thickening up in his throat, “Don’t you know you scared the hell out of me?”

Steve shifts suddenly, turns to meet Bucky’s eyes, “Sorry, Bucky. Didn’t mean to.”

“I know that, you idiot.” Bucky says. Steve laughs and Bucky’s just so happy in that moment, arms still wrapped around Steve’s back, Steve’s eyes creased in the corners and cheeks colored with life that he leans forward and presses his lips against Steve’s. It’s just a press of the lips, relief and joy pouring out of Bucky irrepressibly. There wasn’t another option in the world, just had to get his mouth on Steve.

And shit, if Steve doesn’t have the sweetest mouth Bucky’s ever kissed. His lips are plush and perfect under his, breath tasting a little like morning and last night’s toothpaste and so good that Bucky regrets every moment he hasn’t spend doing this.

Steve gasps under his lips instantly, body going rigid.

Bucky pulls away quick, body going cold with shame, “Steve, oh god, I’m sorry, I didn’t—“ Bucky scrambles to untangle himself from Steve, body washed with panic.

Steve grabs his arm as he tries to get out of bed, “Bucky, come on. What’re you doing? Get back here, I swear I can do better.”

Bucky stares at Steve for a moment, “What?”

Steve clambers to sit up. He pulls Bucky back towards him, grips Bucky’s jaw, “You should kiss me again. If you want to.”

Bucky doesn’t have much he can say to that, so he leans forward and he does.

Steve’s mouth is clumsy and sweet under his. Bucky tilts his head to try to maneuver them into a better position, ends up knocking his teeth against Steve’s. It’s good, though, probably the best time Bucky’s ever had just kissing a person.

He thinks this is probably Steve’s first kiss, too. Well, second. And Bucky’s given him both of them—Bucky’s heady with the thought. He opens his mouth, slides a tongue along Steve’s warm bottom lip.

Steve gasps and opens his mouth. Bucky presses closer, pulls Steve down on top of him so he’s situated in between Bucky’s open thighs.

“This okay, Steve,” He asks, breaking away to meet Steve’s blown-wide pupils.

“ _Bucky,”_ Steve moans, “C’mon, you gotta know—you _have_ to.”

“What?” Bucky says, struck dumb by the raw want in Steve’s voice. Didn’t think in his whole damn life he’d hear Steve sounding like that.

“I’ve wanted this my whole damn life,” Steve says.

Bucky feels his face splitting into a grin, “That so, Stevie? You expect me to kiss you with that mouth?”

“Shut up,” Steve says, and drags Bucky back down to his mouth.

Bucky kisses Steve hard, trails his hands down to touch his bony hips through his shirt.

Steve arches into the touch, pulls his mouth away from Bucky’s to gasp. Bucky moves to suck kisses into the flushed column of Steve’s throat.

Steve moans. Bucky laughs into Steve’s neck, “This okay, Stevie?” He asks.

“Yes, yes, please,” Steve says, moves to give Bucky more access. His shirt pulls up a little, giving Bucky access to warm, uncovered skin. Bucky rubs his thumbs along Steve’s hipbones.

Steve’s hips jerk involuntarily, the space between Bucky’s and his hips disappearing. Bucky keeps working on Steve’s neck, has found a spot right behind Steve’s ear that gives a sweet little gasp in reward every time, but he can’t ignore the hot line of Steve’s cock up against his.

Bucky can’t help it, pulls Steve’s hips flush against his and groans.

Steve clambers for a moment, seats himself more fully on top of Bucky’s lap and grinds down against Bucky’s cock. It’s messy and uncoordinated and Bucky hasn’t ever felt so hot and needy in his life.

He thrusts up against Steve’s warm body, feels the hard line of Steve’s cock right against him.

He can’t stop moving, the dirty friction just right and Steve blushing and whining above him as he keeps circling down onto Bucky. It’s the greatest goddamn thing Bucky’s ever seen.

Bucky clumsily paws his way under Steve’s shirt, feels the warm sweat against his ribs, coating his chest. Bucky pinches one of Steve’s nipples and Steve seems to go a little wild with it. He bares down against Bucky’s body, whole body collapsing against Bucky as he hides his face in Bucky’s neck.

“Please, oh god, yes,” Steve pants against his neck. Bucky kisses Steve breathlessly, thrusts up against Steve in a frenzy. He scrapes a nail against Steve nipple again, and Steve grinds down one more time. He whines, hips jerking against Bucky’s for a few long seconds before Bucky feels the warmth of Steve’s release between them.

Bucky moans, “Fuck, Stevie, that do it for you?” He asks. Steve nods jerkily against his neck, moves a hand to stroke against the hard bulge of Bucky’s cock.

Just a couple of rough strokes through his pants and Bucky’s coming like he’s fifteen again, sticky, hot, pulses that have him clenching his eyes the pleasure is so sharp.

He lays breathless for a moment, mouthing kisses along Steve’s jaw as he comes down.

Steve laughs a little bit, moves to peck Bucky on the lips, “That do it for you, Barnes?” He asks, voice teasing and happy.

“Yeah, think that did me just fine,” Bucky replies, grips the back of Steve’s neck to bring Steve’s mouth back to his.

“How long have we got?” Steve asks.

“Saturday, Steve, we got all the time in the world,” Bucky says.

Steve presses his forehead against Bucky’s, “And you wanna do this, right? You wanna—“  
“Steve, you have no fucking idea how much.”

Steve smiles against his skin, “Huh. Alright. That’s good to hear.”

Steve looks like the goddamn sun in that moment, like spring’s come at last and Bucky wants to have him looking at him like that for as long as he can.

He leans forward and kisses him again, keeps his eyes open to watch the shadow of Steve’s lashes against his cheeks. Bucky doesn’t tell Steve what he’s thinking right then, is sure Steve would call him the fucking sap he is, but Steve’s eyes flutter open and meet Bucky’s, and Bucky guesses he knows anyway.

\---

Steve probably didn’t have influenza—was probably just a bug or something. But Bucky still doesn’t want him out of the apartment, feels entitled to kiss Steve back into bed most mornings and ask him not to go out.

Steve doesn’t listen of course, when does the little shit ever listen, but he kisses Bucky back and smiles and tells him that he’s gonna be careful. Can’t be bringing anything back that his sweetheart could catch.

Bucky hates how it makes him flush every time, warm pride spreading across his chest.

“That’s right, baby,” he says, brushes Steve’s hair off his forehead, “You gotta come home to me whole.”

And Bucky knows that that’s not gonna keep Steve out of trouble, not even by a half, but he can’t help the way it leaves him smiling like Steve and he are damn near invincible.

**Author's Note:**

> Anyways i hope you liked that!! If i missed tagging anything or did like a terrible typo plz let me know! :D OH YES the title is from The Last Limit of Bhakti by the mountain goats!


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